Don't Hurt Me Again

I stayed by Jackson’s grave until the evening shadows swallowed the headstones, letting the cold rain wash away the last of my illusions.

The villa was warm when I walked through the front door. The flickering light of an old black-and-white movie spilled from the living room television. Gage lounged on the sectional sofa, a glass of amber liquid resting on his knee.

"You’re late," Gage said. He kept his eyes fixed on the screen.

"I lost track of time."

"Where did you go? I waited for an hour."

I slipped off my damp coat, hanging it on the rack. He hated hearing Jackson's name. Any reminder of the debt made his jaw tighten and his tone ice over. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a fight.

"I went to a restaurant for dinner," I told him, stepping into the living room.

"Alone? You could have called."

"You said you were in board meetings all day. I didn't want to interrupt."

"You still should have answered my text."

"My phone died."

He finally glanced at me. His gaze dropped to my left hand, lingering on my bare ring finger for a fraction of a second. My pulse jumped, waiting for the explosion. Instead, his brow furrowed in disgust at my wet clothes.

"Go clean up," he ordered. "You're tracking mud on the rug."

I didn't argue. I walked past him and headed straight up the stairs.

I scrubbed the cemetery dirt from my skin, letting the scalding water turn my flesh pink. When I walked back downstairs in fresh clothes, the quiet house had transformed. A bright, musical laugh echoed from the living room.

Rebecca.

She sat on the edge of the sofa, her posture perfect, a designer silk scarf draped around her neck. The Mayor’s daughter. The girl Gage was actually going to marry.

If Jackson hadn't died, if Rebecca hadn't left for Paris to study art right after high school, she would have worn Gage's ring years ago. I knew that. Gage knew that. And tonight, hearing his plans through the VIP suite door, the reality had finally shattered my denial.

"Mia!" Rebecca sprang to her feet the second she saw me. She closed the distance between us and grabbed both of my hands. "Look at you! You look so cozy."

"Hello, Rebecca," I said. My fingers felt stiff in her warm grasp. "When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago. Gage was telling me you went out for a solitary dinner," she chirped, her eyes wide and entirely free of malice. That was the worst part about Rebecca. She was genuinely kind. "You should have called me! I hate eating alone."

"It was a last-minute decision," I murmured, pulling my hands free under the pretense of adjusting my sweater sleeve.

"Well, next time, I'm kidnapping you," she insisted. She spun around to face Gage, her skirt flaring. "Isn't that right? We need a girls' night before the wedding planning gets too crazy."

Gage offered her a soft, genuine smile. The kind he never gave me anymore. "Don't overwhelm her, Becca. She likes her quiet time."

"I’m just excited," she said, smoothing the front of her dress. "Anyway, I can't stay long. My flight to Seattle leaves in two hours. The gallery exhibition opens tomorrow."

Gage stood up, grabbing his keys from the coffee table. "I’ll drive you to the airport."

"Are you sure?" Rebecca asked. She cast a worried glance my way. "I don't want to drag you away from Mia. You two barely saw each other today."

"It's fine," Gage stated, his tone flat. "Mia is tired anyway. She needs to rest."

He didn't ask me. He told me.

"That's very sweet of you, Gage," I said. I forced the corners of my mouth upward, holding the fake smile firmly in place. "Have a safe flight, Rebecca."

"Thank you, Mia!" She kissed my cheek, leaving a faint trace of floral perfume in the air.

Gage grabbed her heavy leather suitcase by the handle. He didn't complain about the weight. He didn't tell her she packed too much, the way he always did when we traveled. He just carried it toward the foyer with ease.

Rebecca looped her arm through his free one, leaning her head against his shoulder. They looked like a magazine cover. Perfect. Equal.

"Gage," I called out.

He stopped near the doorway. He turned his head, his expression instantly shifting. "What is it? Did you need something?"

His tone held nothing but impatience. He was eager to leave. He wanted to play the devoted partner to the woman he actually respected, and I was holding him up.

*A mistress's daughter should be happy to stay a mistress.*

The words from the restaurant slammed into my chest all over again. I looked at his handsome face, searching for a trace of the boy Jackson died to save. I found nothing but a stranger. My chest tightened, then settled into a cold, flat calm.

"No," I said, my voice steady. "Just... drive safe."

Gage rolled his eyes slightly. "Lock the door behind us. Don't wait up."

The heavy oak door slammed shut.

I stood in the silent hallway for exactly ten seconds. Then, I turned and walked straight back up the stairs.

I didn't go to the master bedroom. I went to the guest room at the end of the hall, pulling a large duffel bag from the top shelf of the closet.

I unzipped it and tossed it onto the mattress.

I didn't pack the designer dresses Gage bought for his charity galas. I didn't pack the expensive jewelry his mother gifted me on holidays. I only grabbed the jeans, sweaters, and boots I bought with my own money.

He wasn't going to marry me. He was going to hide me in some suburban villa while he built a public life with Rebecca.

I shoved a stack of t-shirts into the bag. My knuckles turned white against the fabric, then relaxed.

I was done being his obligation. I was done waiting for a love that didn't exist.

"Goodbye, Gage," I whispered to the empty room.

I zipped the duffel shut, the metallic sound sharp in the quiet space.

I hoisted the strap over my shoulder and walked downstairs. I didn't look back at the velvet couch or the massive television. I set my house keys on the kitchen counter, right next to the espresso machine he loved.